[OOC] THE UNDYING CRUSADE

[boomlover]

discord.gg/HQXqBUS this is a permanent one gents.

[babbysama]

Name

Rewan Treave

Age

31

Appearence

Hider

Treave is of medium height and lithely built, although a drinker of some competency and an eater of equal skill. His shock of dirty blonde is often tied back, and a thick beard lines his angular jaw. His nose is aquiline and hard; indeed, his face seems to be comprised of sharp lines and angles, though his cheeks soften his appearance to a degree. He is considered by many to be handsome--of particular notice are his eyes, light green in color, which have been more than a few ladies' fancy.

Race

Human

Diety

Methel the Fickle

Personality

Treave is, in a word, mercurial. He can be both cruel and kind, melancholy and merry, sardonic and sincere, charming and repulsive, hilarious and deadpan, all in a single moment. He is a maze to navigate, and leaves no clues to guide the unwitting. To some degree this is derived from the influence of Wild Magic, but Treave has, since his youth, been something of a rabble-rouser.

Skill

• Masterful: Illusion Magic
• Skilled: Wild Magic, Diplomacy
• Adept: Gambling, Elemental Magic
• Novice: Brawling, Athletics

Traits

• Educated Scholar: Rewan was educated from a young age, and has an at least cursory understanding, if not more, of history, natural philosophy, foreign languages, geography, arcana, etc. He is, however, most gifted at mathematics.
• Unpredictable: Due to the influence of Wild Magic on his psyche, Rewan is prone to sudden mood swings and sometimes erratic behaviors, although he is often unaware that he is doing so. Some think that he is simply eccentric, but it would be more appropriate to say that he is often unstable.
• Dirty Fighter: Rewan does not fight by the rules. A saying he learned in prison---"The fair are dead." He uses any and all resources available to him to deal the most damage he can. Against human opponents, this would earn him disrespect or distaste (though he would laugh at that), but against the Undying it is an advantage.
• A Man of Many Vices: Rewan has a weakness to fine wine, fine women, fine food, and fine coin (usually gotten from gambling). He despises it, but is unable to control himself despite his protests. Gambling especially is a kind of addiction to him.

Personal History

Rewan Treave was born to an affluent family of burghers in the city of Seredas, capital of Naul Rahn. His father (a merchant plying the iron trade with Operath) and mother had long endeavored to have a child, to no avail. When, finally, at the ripe age of thirty Eselda became pregnant, Rewan's father hosted a banquet for the ages in celebration, and husband and wife both drank themselves into stupors. From posterity's vantage, this, somewhat ironically, sets the tone for the life of the child that would come.

Being wealthy as he was, and after the custom of doting fathers, Kenver Treave tried to provide for his son the best of childhoods, and the most rigorous of educations. Certainly the boy was brilliant; his tutor, one Padrha, an elf, thought him to be one of the greatest students he had ever taught. His grasp of mathematics in particular was noted, and Kenver, adroit tradesman that he was, beamed at the thought of such a son taking up his craft. From an early age he was discovered to be magically skilled, and a separate instructor, Iaga, educated him in the various magical disciplines. He wanted for nothing. His parents were almost comically devoted to him, and his every need was satisfied circumspectly and even excessively.

Perhaps it was boredom, then, rather than some innate characteristic, that induced him to disturb the order of things. It is, of course, pointless to consider what might have been. It began, subtly, from the time that he was seven or eight, a kind of dissatisfaction, a nuisance, that grew ever greater, until he realized that to upend this coddled existence, to be a plague, an imp, a rascal, was his purpose and no other. The Treave parents had imagined it to be merely some momentary trouble that would, with time and education, pass. But, by the time Rewan was thirteen, they were not so certain, and, by sixteen, felt themselves to be failures.

The boy terrorized Padhra, brutalized the servants of the manor, tormented his parents. He snuck out under cover of night to lose himself in brothels and wineskins, only to be brought back, reeking of liquor and perfume, to his weeping parents' doorstep. His father lamented that all of his life's efforts would be for naught, for no one would replace him after he died. Apropos, Eselda herself died not long after, from a severe case of lullwater fever.

Following Eselda's death, Kenver lost all control of his son. Rewan, unofficially, took up residence with a whore he claimed to have fallen in love with, and returned home only intermittently. What's more, he had taken up the vice that would come to dominate his life: gambling. Even without magical aid, he was a natural. He won exorbitant sums of coin. He bought himself a new wardrobe and went about like a dandy. He purchased he and his lover a small home on the waterfront, and was known to hold ridiculous fetes and galas each night. He once even won a small fleet from a drunken merchant, but lost it in the following round, to the former's great relief.

To augment his winnings, he, most craftily, used Illusion. He changed the readings of dice, the color and suit of cards, before his opponents' eyes, and for a time attracted no suspicion. He was, of course, cognizant of the perils of such a practice, and thus went about it with finesse and subtlety. He allowed himself to lose, and many times even affected the outcome of a certain draw or throw to be in favor of his opponent. But he gleaned the lion's share of the earnings.

Despite himself, Rewan never thought of stealing from his father, although he could have, quite simply, had he wished it so. Even with his burgeoning purse, he declined to make any gifts to his solitary parent. "We are too different, he and I," he mused aloud one night to Pia, the aforementioned whore, "And we will never be able to reconcile those differences. It's simply the way it is." One particularly drunken evening, a few weeks later, however, he was dealt an unfortunate blow---he lost, unexpectedly, nearly half of his earnings to a crafty dwarf. In trying to gain it back, he lost some more. He and his challenger shared an appraising look, and in that instant it was obvious that both of them were Illusionists of some caliber. To reveal this secret, of course, would be to bring their own to light. And thus, irrevocably, they became enemies. "You owe me a debt, Treave," the dwarf began, bemusedly, "And I'd like to have it. Tomorrow." He pushed back his chair, and with a regal air, took his leave.

His ruin had begun. It was only an hour after midnight---still enough time to turn the tides. He crept into his father's house, and stumbling (he was quite drunk), managed to steal into the secret place where the family fortune was hidden. With this sum in hand (still far beneath the debt he owed to the dwarf), he could win enough, and then some, to pay the due and restore, at least in part, his father's wealth.

But, as if by some caprice of fate, Rewan's fortunes were not favored that night. Due to his inebriation he found it difficult to focus, and his magical efforts consistently foundered. By the early hours of the morning, he had lost more than he had gained, and even the most ardent gamblers cut their losses and went to bed. He wandered the streets, restlessly, until dawn found him at his father's door. He replaced what little money remained him of the stolen fortune, and passed out on the floor.

He awoke, sweating, at noon, and found his father standing above him. They shared a wordless look, and he promptly left.

He was captured that night, on the road to Operath, and remained imprisoned for the following seven years. He was nineteen years old. A few days afterwards, having comprehended the scale of his ruin, Kenver Treave committed suicide by drinking poison along with his evening brandy, and went peacefully to the beyond. Rewan did not learn of this until after his release.

His incarceration, of course, changed him. Despite himself, he gambled with what little had value within the prison's walls. This got him into trouble, especially when his dejected opponents learned that they had been cheated. So he learned to survive, to fight, to be brutal. And most importantly, he was taught, from a one-eyed old dog, the furtive arts of Wild Magic. This produced in him the greatest changes of all, though they manifested themselves subtly. He began to think, after a time, that he was slowly going mad. And perhaps he was.

Following his release from prison, he imagined himself change for the better, but news of his father's death shook him profoundly. His former lover was nowhere to be found, and no family was left to him. He felt completely and utterly alone, and knew that the blame was entirely his.

So he left Seredas. Traveled the face of Ailthun. Gambled, because he could not help himself. Won and lost. Engaged in love affairs and fought in lovers' quarrels. Tried out various occupations, and failed at most. He even, on occasion, killed, if the coin was good enough, and the object despicable enough. Even in his degeneracy, he could not abandon the ethics that he had been taught, and that he knew implicitly to be true. He felt, on the whole, empty. Listless. Drifting about his life. What had any of his travails ever earned him? He was brilliant but knowledge got him little, save for the affections of ladies too shy to admit their interest; he, at times, wished that he could be ignorant, for he would probably be happier. He was skilled in magic, but used it for his own benefit, or for violence, which, along with gambling, was one of the few things he felt himself to be truly good at. And gambling...a vice which he could not escape. Money gave him nothing but momentary satisfaction, and yet he could not help but want it, earnestly need it, not even to eat, or drink, or pay his rents, but to cure some indescribable craving. He recognized all of this, but did not, or could not, change any of it. He felt it impossible, or perhaps even unnecessary. Before he was even thirty years old, he thought that his life was over, and he waited numbly for a random death.

Then, one cold day in Belia's Cradle, he first heard of the Duchess's quest. He was, as everyone was, well aware of the threat of the Undying, but he did not really care about it. In a perverse way, he was excited by it, fascinated by it. But he had never imagined that he himself would go himself to fight against it. The coin on offer was good, of course. That was a requisite. He had, over five years, accrued some debts, and they would soon come to collect; he was, of course, not keen on repeating an experience with which he was quite familiar. And so he went to join the Duchess's little crusade, that paltry effort to save the world--packed his meager belongings, kissed his erstwhile bed-warmer goodbye, and went off. It was money that moved him, and knowledge too. But also, in some dim and secret place, he hoped that the crusade would give him something to believe in, something to fill the emptiness in which he had lived for five of the longest years of his life. He could not remember the last time he had believed in anything. Perhaps, he thought, it was naive to hope.

But he hoped. He hoped.

Weapons and Armor

Rewan wears light armor---leather and mail, with calfskin boots, leather gloves, and a rich traveling cloak. Belted at his side is a sword of Operath make. A wizened elm staff he uses as a focus for the more taxing Wild Magic, though Illusion he can carry out without its usage.

Misc Gear and Possessions

WIP

[Tea]

Alright, I'm pretty much settled on a character. I haven't RPed in quite a few years, since before I grew up, got a job and started paying bills. My characters would invariably turn out to be heroes; virtuous, noble, charming. Even my villains were usually honourable and fought for some greater cause, rather than being evil for evil's sake. I was therefore pretty shocked at myself when I stopped typing and realised I'd created a broken husk of a man. I had to tone down the tragedy a little bit before I posted, otherwise he'd be almost completely unlikable. I wonder what that says about how my life has changed in the last few years, lol.

I still have the last two paragraphs of the backstory to write, along with the weapons and equipment part, and I may change what already exists substantially before I'm happy with it, but this is what I have for now.

Like I said, it's been a while since I did this, so I'm open to feedback. I haven't really adjusted to the particular ways and means of this forum compared to what I'm used to, so please tell me if I'm full of crap and need to change something ^^

Dorian Ad-Elyan

Name: Dorian Ad-Elyan

Age: 36

Appearance: Stands somewhat taller than the average man, with long legs and broad shoulders. Untamed black hair tumbles down to his shoulders, often concealing his rugged good looks. A face bearing the unmistakable roughness of years spent in the wilderness belies his noble birth, but he carries himself with pride and demeanour worthy of a prince, and speaks in the often florid tongues of a learned man. No false smile can hide the sadness from his eyes; a deep, all-consuming sadness which envelopes anyone who should catch his gaze.

When not travelling, he wears nothing more than the dark clothes of a man who wishes to move unseen through the shadows. When on the road or when there is likely to be danger, he covers his chest, shoulders and arms with well-crafted leather armour, and wears a heavy, hooded cloak when in the wilderness.



Race: Human

Deity: Once prayed to Monia, Goddess of Life and Healing, though she was known by a different name in his land. He no longer worships any god, believing that they have forsaken him.

Personality: Once a bright-eyed young man whose charm, wit and good humour earned him a warm welcome in any company, Dorian saw too much horror, too early. Tragedy after tragedy bleached the warmth from his smile and the hope from his eyes, and the harsh reality of life after the First Undying War ground his idealism into ashes, to be replaced by the grim acceptance that a man must do whatever it takes to survive.

To some, he may seem distant or aloof. He rarely speaks out of turn, shows little passion or enthusiasm for success or reward, and will stand unflinching in the face of all but the most nightmarish of foes. However, behind this resolute exterior lies a broken man. He has a tendency to grow deeply attached to his companions, and considers himself solely responsible for their safety. He is deeply afflicted by the fear of losing anyone else in his life, and it is this fear that drives him to distance himself from others.

Skills:
Masterful:
Swordsmanship
Skilled:
Archery
Outdoorsmanship/Survival
Adept:
Tracking
Sneaking
Novice:
Non-Magical Medicines

Traits:
Resilience: After the tragedies of his youth, there is little of Dorian's heart left to break, and he is no longer repulsed by even the most grotesque horrors, nor brought to tears by the most brutal suffering. Though it makes facing down the Undying easy, his companions find this apparent lack of emotion to be almost inhuman, and find him incredibly difficult to empathise with.
Resourcefulness: Years spent first as a street urchin and then a lone survivor in the woods have made Dorian a master of quickly analysing a situation and forming a plan. One quick look around a room will, to his trained eyes, reveal a number of advantages which could be gained, or weaknesses which could be exploited.

Backstory: Dorian was born Third Prince of Elya, a small land of little significance on the eastern continent. He was, like all Ad-Elyans before him, destined for a life of quiet comfort. The Crown had ceded almost all its political power to a military council some centuries ago, and since then the Kings and Queens of Elya had been little more than figureheads; presiding over public festivals, fulfilling largely ceremonial duties in the military and receiving envoys from other states. Dorian's life was to be no different. He spent his youth in the royal library, enthralled by dusty tomes telling tales of lands distant and deeds heroic, or sparring with his siblings and the King's finest swordsmen. None suspected that the reign of Dorian's father was to be the last of any King in Elya, and that the boy would soon find his peaceful life in flames. None, save for the Marshals - the five members of the ruling council.

Long years of peace had made the Marshals lazy, and they had allowed greed to corrupt them. Where Elya's wealth had once been spread fairly, new taxes were being levied daily for every conceivable activity, with the proceeds spent on great works of vanity; monuments and lavish banquets. Resistance to the Marshals' rule began to spring up, only to be quelled on the end of a soldier's sword. The Marshals could see that a great revolt was bubbling under the surface, and decided to protect their position by deflecting blame onto the King, who had been deliberately kept oblivious to the suffering of his people.

The rebels marched on the royal keep. Those few remaining guards who had declared loyalty to the King fought valiantly but could do nothing in the face of the frenzied mob and their sheer numbers. Dorian, a boy all of seven years old, watched aghast as his father was hacked to pieces where he stood, and his mother was dragged away to become the victim of unspeakable atrocities. The boy grasped his father's sword and made to defend himself, but was picked up by a fleeing servant and carried, with his elder brothers, to the royal docks. The three boys were bundled onto a merchant vessel, money changed hands and the King's wishes were fulfilled. His children were safe.

Dorian's last memory of Elya was seeing the royal keep - his childhood home - go up in flames.

The merchant ship docked some weeks later in the port city of Nabina, in the distant land of Naul Rahn. Here, a war had recently broken out and Dorian's brothers were welcomed into the city guard as expert swordsmen, though he himself was too young. He attended a local school by day and spent his nights as he had in his homeland - in the library, searching for any mention of his old home. As the months went by, reports would filter through of defeat after defeat in the field. His brothers were called away on duty more often and would return with tales of strange creatures sighted over the walls. Four years after their arrival in Nabina, the city was besieged by the Undying. Dorian, now eleven years old, fled the city with the other refugees. His brothers were killed defending the city from their foes.

Now orphaned, the boy followed other refugees southeast, deeper into Naul Rahn, to the city of Cartella. Here he found that the only way to put food in his hands was to fall in with the local underworld. For four years, the King's son lived as a pickpocket and petty burglar, fearing that every day would be his last as Undying hordes ravaged the land and the city was besieged, coming within inches of defeat. By his fifteenth birthday, the War of Ruin had ended. Many of the children who had been orphaned by the war were adopted, and Dorian was able to leave the petty criminal underworld behind when he was taken in by a kindly old hunter, who lived on the outskirts of the woods with his daughter.

The years following the War of Ruin were peaceful and relatively happy ones for Dorian who, having lost his home and family twice, had managed to find a new one. He fell in love with the old man's daughter and married her. He would hunt in the woods with his adoptive father, feeding the other refugees as they tried to rebuild their lives, and when the old man passed away he stayed in the hunter's lodge with his wife, there to live out the rest of his days in the tranquility his youth had promised him.

Unfortunately, the world around him was not the one he had grown up in, and tragedy would befall again when the War of Perseverance broke out. A swordsman of prowess and repute, Dorian was drafted into the city guard and fought atop Cartella's walls to defend it when the Undying horde struck for a second time. Though the walls stood and the city survived, the outskirts had been ravaged and when he returned home, it was to find his house torn down and his wife and closest friends slaughtered like cattle by the monstrous onslaught.

To have his heart broken and life set aflame for a third time, at such a young age, finally crushed Dorian's spirit. Standing before the smouldering ruins of his home, he raised his father's sword to the sky and screamed until his voice was hoarse, cursing every god he could name for allowing such a thing to happen.

A broken man, he retreated into the mountains, where he would hone his skills and brood over thoughts of revenge. Those who had known him thought him dead, until he answered the Duchess' call. Dorian Ad-Elyan will join the fight against the Undying, and whether by life or death will find peace.

Gear and Possessions: Dorian's life has been built around travelling swift and light, and he has little use for armour other than the dark clothes, hooded cloak and hardened, well-crafted leather he purchased from a blacksmith in Cartella. He keeps his adoptive father's bow primarily for hunting, preferring to use the Elyan King's sword as a weapon. It is a long, double-edged blade, forged from exceptionally fine steel; light enough to be wielded with one hand or two. The sword is of simple design, its only remarkable features being the ornate pattern of gold and silver inlaid on the hilt, long since faded out of sight. The sharp but aged weapon suits the somewhat bedraggled appearance of the man who wields it. Dorian only carries whatever equipment is necessary; a stone to whet the blade, flint to start a fire in the wilderness and a flask of water.

[Hellis]

@babbysama
The immidiete and only real problem I have with your sheet is the fact that you circumvent the skill system when you make things like learning and fighting encompass several disciplines. Swordmanship, Brawling and Archery are all very different skills and you cannot have them all incorporated under a single umbrella term.

@Tea

A rather large oversight keeps the story from making sense. Nubina and Melans Tear are on opposite sides of the continent. Refugees from Melan would escape south deeper into Naul Rahn or to the South east where Operath lies. To go so far east as to Melans Tear would mean walking on foot trough Undying infested land at that point of time.

Concerning the skills. Courage isn't something you need to put down as a skill as it not a thing you train and master, it something more innate and tied to your personality.

However, your sheet actually inspired me to include something extra in the Charachter sheet. Traits: These are not skills but rather more unique mental and physical features.

@Riffus Maximus

This might come as a bit of a slap to the face, but I totally take the responsibility for missing this. Vampires and Undead are not a viable race for several reasons. The main one being that the Duchess would never on her life allow a vampire or similar within her ranks. Her stake in the war is personal and her beef with all undead would likely have her decapitate your character on the spot. I am willing to work with you to as painlessly as possible adapt your charachter into something non-undead.

[Vox Angelis]

Ouch indeed. It's ok, I had a feeling I was playing with fire. I will give appropriate changes to the character once I get back from work later tonight.

[Hellis]

@Riffus Maximus Thank you for being understanding about it! As I said. We can prolly convert it into something fitting

[babbysama]

@Hellis Thanks for pointing that out. I've just kept Brawling on the sheet now; though Rewan probably could handle himself around a sword, let's just say he's never been formally trained, and magic remains his weapon of choice.

A few quick questions though. How should I represent that Rewan has been educated on the sheet? He's an avid reader, and was given an intense education as a child, so I don't think it'd be impossible that he has at least a basic-to-intermediate knowledge of those subjects. Would you like me to add a narrower focus or could the fact that he's been educated be better represented as a trait rather than a skill?

[Hellis]

I would just put Educated Scholar as a trait. I am far more comfterble with that being kinda catch all then the martial skills.

[babbysama]

@Hellis Gotcha. Thanks for the clarification!

EDIT: Updated my sheet with a Traits section.

[Hellis]

@babbysama
Anytime.

EVERYONE: There is now a trait section in the Charsheet. Also. Check out the NPC info on Duchess for some story behind our dear leader.

[Slamurai]

Brother Aeron

✖ ✖ ✖

Brother Aeron

AGE:
34

APPEARANCE:
Aeron’s flesh has a deathly pallor, making his grey-blue veins all the more visible. His skin clings taught to his bones, revealing a strong set of cheekbones. He wears a neatly-maintained beard that tapers to a point. The hairs on his head are a deep brown, cropped closely to his scalp. Pale, hazel eyes peer behind a sturdy brow. Aeron’s build is that of a soldier – solid and well-defined, with rough, calloused hands. His height is not altogether impressive. When clad from head to toe in his plate armor, Aeron is an awesome, and dreadful sight. His blackened armor is inlaid with symbols of Nethelin and death, from skulls and bones to hourglasses.

RACE:
Human

DEITY:
Nethelin

PERSONALITY:
One might expect a servant of Nethelin to be exceedingly grim, but this is not the case. Aeron has a demeanor to match his god’s. In spite of his hardy appearance and profession, the Operathian is quite amicable and good-natured. Although he maintains long bouts of silence, it is not difficult at all to find him in a content mood, and he flashes smiles with ease. Perhaps it is necessary to be so affable, when tasked with dour responsibilities such as his.
Make no mistake, Aeron is a man dedicated to his cause. As a Knight of Nethelin, his duties include guarding graveyards, funeral processions, and travelling pilgrims. His is a life of constant vigilance, ensuring that the dead pass seamlessly into the realm of his god - and stay there. Aeron has a disdain for the undead and necromancers - heretics who would violate the natural ebb and flow of life and death. He believes firmly in the sanctity of this transition, and so observing proper burial rites is of utmost importance to him.

SKILLS:
Masterful: Swordsmanship

Skilled: Riding, Athletics

Adept: Divine Magic, History/Lore

Novice: First Aid, Ceremony/Oration

TRAITS:
Aeron has a habit of remaining calm in even dire situations. It is a rare sight to see him lose his temper, or panic. In the face of adversity, he maintains a serene control of himself, acting however he might best defuse the danger. Outside of conflict, he appears to be content, at peace with his surroundings. One might believe that he’s made his peace with death, trusting in Nethelin to safeguard his soul when his time comes. This acceptance of the inevitable may be what gives Aeron his airy demeanor.

BACKSTORY:
The Order of the Grave, more formally known as the Brotherhood of Knights of the Grave of Nethelin and Saint Roland, is a religious Order dedicated to the god of death and the protection of the deceased. It has its origins in individuals associated with a funerary temple in the northwest of Opthelon, dedicated to Saint Roland. The temple provided services for the deceased, blessing them in rites so their souls would pass to Nethelin undisturbed. It also provided meagre protection from graverobbers.
Sometime after Aith Anur’s disaster of 1011, the organization was elevated as a religious and military order, tasked with safeguarding the deceased from necromancy, and the living from the undead. At the outbreak of the first Undying War, the Order mobilized its militant arm to safeguard Opthelon from the damned. It saw little action, with most of the fighting occurring in Melfic and Naul Rahn. Only when the waves of the second war crashed upon the south did the Order fully commit itself, joining the armies of the alliance in the heat of the conflict.
The Order of the Grave is the smallest knightly order in Opthelon; the association with Nethelin and the dead likely make it an unpopular candidate for most. Yet, it is also one of the most zealous. Most of its members are not true knights or clergymen, but laypersons who vow to carry out the Order’s missions. The Order’s warriors are broadly classified into knights and sergeants - soldiers of high and low status, respectively. Its brother-priests tend to the spiritual needs of the Order, and are usually the ones in charge of rites.

✖ ✖ ✖

Aeron knows nothing of his birth parents, or the rest of his family. All he’s ever known is the Order’s monastery. As a boy, all the brother-priests could say was that his parents wanted to leave him in the Order’s charge, should he become an orphan. Fate had decided that would be the case. It was the priesthood of the Order that raised and trained him to become a member when he reached adulthood. In this sense, the Order of the Grave is Aeron’s family, his fellow peers his brothers.
The closest of Aeron’s fatherly figures was a man by the name of Bertrand, a high-ranking knight within the organization. It was his influence on the boy, and the kindness he showed him, that prompted Aeron to follow the path of the knights, rather than become a brother-priest. His parents’ status, while not the cream of the nobility, was high enough to make him eligible for knighthood. Bertrand filled his fatherless void, instructing him in the ways of the Order, and guiding his training. His tutelage included lore, histories, rituals and rites that priests would be expected to memorize, but this was supplemented with lessons in martial activity - fighting, horse riding, and exercise. Bertrand did what would be expected of a father, and in many ways, he was one to Aeron.
Aeron was born well after the War of Ruin, but by the age of twelve, the War of Perseverance began, and the warriors of the Order marched in defense of the southern nations. Too young himself to fight, but old enough to serve, Aeron assisted his mentor and other knights of Nethelin. As the war raged, he became a man, and was elevated to knighthood two years before its end, on his twenty-second birthday. He only participated in two minor battles, although he outlived Bertrand, who perished during the fighting. The death of Aeron’s tutor and father figure shook him, although he remembered what the man had always said - “We are but dust, and as dust Nethelin welcomes us.” The old knight’s lessons gave Aeron some comfort, and he took to his newfound duties as a knight with zeal - the better to honor his memory.
Now, as Duchess Ailida calls the War of Reclamation to bear, Aeron rides among her host. For the honor of the fallen and the sanctity of the dead, he hopes to undo the heresy in the north and bring stability to the souls of the deceased.

WEAPONS & ARMOR:
The armor Aeron wears is a blackened suit of plate, bedecked in symbols of death and Nethelin’s domain. It creates an imposing image, contrasting with the knight’s benevolence. Despite its make, Aeron manages to walk in it with an unnerving amount of silence. His close helmet is topped with an impressive set of horns, adding height to his figure. From the ornamentation drapes a length of silk, and a tabard runs over his armored legs.
Aeron is proficient with a range of weaponry; the longsword is his principal arm of choice, and his hangs within a scabbard. The pommel is topped with an hourglass icon. He also carries a poleaxe for fighting on foot. It is a versatile weapon, combining armor penetration with the ability to trip block, disarm and entangle an adversary.

GEAR & POSSESSIONS:
Aeron carries few personal effects, the most important being a chain, from which Nethelin’s icon hangs. Asides from being a symbol of his devotion, it acts as a focus for divine spellcasting. It is also a badge of his office, as a Knight of Nethelin.
Also of importance is his destrier, a jet black horse with a powerful build. Aeron calls him Mistweaver, and is careful to take excellent care of the steed. Like its master, it is covered in armor; steel barding protects it when ridden into battle.

[Briza]

Nikolai von Krähenvald

_NAME

Nikolai von Krähenvald

_AGE

23 years

_APPEARANCE

As an average featured man, standing at a good 1.87 meters, Nikolai is not exactly close to being considered a small creature. However, he is definitely not the tallest creature that resides in Operath, especially in terms of his agile appearance attributed to his lean but strong and firm form accentuated by his line of work and living situations. Nikolai has a fair complexion, tanned by an abundance of laboring outside, which has aged the younger man by several years. It is clear he is in the prime of his life despite all, especially for his clean shaven face (attributed to his embarrassing lack of an ability to grow a full beard). His dark hair is pulled into one braid that rests just above his upper back, bangs and other stray hairs hanging down randomly. A goldish color band is tied around his braid—a childhood gift from his father. Along with his dark hair, he also has dark eyes and thickish eyebrows. His mouth is small and generally pensive. Although, he is not humorless.

_RACE
Human

_DEITY

Belia, The Queen in the Mountain

_PERSONALITY

As the young idealist human male who is strong and sturdy like the majority of the creatures dwelling in the Operath Mountain range of Aithun, Nikolai bares a traditionally strong bond of honor in the name of Belia, the Queen of the Mountain, to uphold the well-being of his family, which (now) consists of a fallen father, a resolute mother, who took full reigns as head of the household upon her husband’s death (many years ago), and two sisters (both younger than Nikolai).

Upon his father’s death, Nikolai took up the title as the sole male of the household and thus wears the responsibility of some patriarchal duties but only under the heel of his weakened mother, which has warranted a repressed tension of violent idealization for some such naturally born rough and masculine tendencies. However, despite such a shadowed acquisition in his unexplored mindset, in front of his wonder for blood, there is a carefully built mask of chivalrous bravery and piety for survival and protection of not just his loved ones but for his kingdom, as well.

His projected attitude could be summed up as prude and straight-forward for all seriousness sake, as for a want of transparency in his core beliefs. Beating around the bush does not bode well amongst the many times that all too florally of language has butterflied around his home life due to the nature of the women struggling through the grimness of society. In such a hidden, contempt attitude towards the glass case of an atmosphere, even his poetic skills to attract a creature for wedding and reproduction purposes has become a rather more or less foul taste reminiscing the thought of the lure being an unnecessary distraction in his mental process (if anything, matrimony has failed to make any such sense to him, as his main goal is to stay alive on the battlefield, regain his family’s fallen status—such a procedure with a depressingly high failure rate). Nonetheless, if he is not being straight-forward, then it is because of some cowardly disposition to be sarcastic under the protectionist nature that he has unwittingly found himself amongst the minority during a social situation.

<sub>SKILLS

MASTERFUL -</sub> Purist
_{SKILLFUL -} Mace Weaponry , Athletics
_{ADEPT -} Horsemanship, Melee Combat
_{NOVICE -} Endurance, First Aid

<sub>TRAITS

PRIDEFUL -</sub>
Holding unwaveringly with a fundamentalist's faith in the traditions of Operath and her historical background with his family’s name, Nikolai has taken an almost hypocritical view of the religious order and pomp associated with Belia. While the external demeanor of Nikolai bares such a cross of hard contemplation dedicated to the thoughtful desires for the will of the Queen of the Mountain, his inward skeptical nature of disgust from belittling the noticeably fallen, imperfect nature of the creatures around him plays an heavy, shadowed hand in the puppeteering of his mental workings and inner thoughts. For such reasons, he often fails to see his own faults as he is too preoccupied in the shunning of other creatures’ unholy habits. However, a boldness in the belief of himself can also be attributed.

_{CONSERVATIVE -}
Despite any neglecting of his own imperfections, Nikolai is a rather conservative young man in more ways than just the driving need to uphold Operath’s traditions. His abstaining from many physical desires such as alcohol, over-celebration, indecent exposure of sexual recreation, or self-indulgent oral banter with other creatures are several other such examples of his self-restraint. To say he is perfectly conservative, would, of course, be incorrect.

_{SADIST -}
As every creature has his own addiction, Nikolai's bad habit comes from some blood lust fantasy of heroic victory. While others may be dreaming about lustful novelty conquers housed in their sheets or other alternate social events of pleasure, Nikolai’s mind is caught in the offensive realm of carnage. As many fantasies start off small and grow with time, this particular habitual idealization is still blossoming, having been planted some time ago. It is assumed his pleasure in gore could very well be the death of him as each kill on the battlefield becomes less and less thrilling as the last, and thus, leading his desire to become disturbingly unsustainable.

_{OBSESSIVE -}
What could appear to an outsider as a clear, focused, and determined spirit in Nikolai is actually an obsession with several ideas: helping reclaim the three kingdoms from the Undying, restore honor to his family’s name, practice piety towards the honorable and blessed Queen of the Mountain, Belias, and an unhealthy curiosity for manslaughter. The order in which these obsessions toy with Nikolai shift throughout whatever scenario or external environment he has found himself. Whatever the case, most things to which he has dedicated his time are all in some roundabout way a means to accomplishing his goals—no matter how hypocritical or similar onto which these fixations are held.

_BACKSTORY

It wasn’t so spectacular that the wealth of Belia’s Cardle had survived the War of Ruins, as Operath’s traditional politics and placement against Aith Anur gave the mountain kingdom an upper edged sword during the shocking and devastating blood bath. For such reasons, a little less than a decade after the War of Ruins, the wealthy heir of a prominent fortune and land in Operath’s capital, Belia’s Cradle, Roch von Krähenvald wedded Helena Grekova as his wife. After one miscarriage, Helena was able to bare Roch his first born son and child, Nikolai von Krähenvald. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, the surprise attacks that birthed the War of Perseverance stole Roch from his wife and son for a six long years as duty called him to battle (his very own father had died in the War of Ruins). Roch would have been gone longer if he had not been severely wounded during battle. It was for this reason, Nikolai barely knew his father until the age of eight when the first memory of his father as a bedridden man with doctors and nurses redundantly tending to him became engraved in his mind. As much as he wanted his father to live—holding family as an extreme importance and honor in which to participate, a detachment kept him from believing in sorrow from the man’s failing, crippled body. Even his mother was beginning to lose hope, fearing her husband’s fate would be the same as his father’s, and she, too, began detaching apron strings while picking up trails for alternatives on how to make ends meet.

However, as a strong and determined man of Operath, Roch made a full recovery just as the War of Perseverance ended. His recovery was so successful (almost invisible had it not been for the the outward scars) that Helena and he were able to bare two more children: two daughters, Esther von Krähenvald and Maria von Krähenvald. From the generous gift of Belias, the Krähenvald family cherished the blessing of Roch’s second chance of life. Helena made pious endeavors to rear their children in a strong and faithful atmosphere focused on Belias. It appeared that Belias not only brought about a full recovery for Roch, but she also blessed the family further with strong roots for optimistic convictions and a historical understanding of their family’s name and long-lived noble succession in Operath. The thankfulness and foolishly given blessings dissuaded the very thought of Roch falling ill or getting a fluke injury and dying before any of his children reached adulthood were secluded from their minds.

Of course, the grimness of the three kingdoms, perpetually enchanting in the constant reminder of the wars (past, future, and soon to be present), was a heavy tole on anyone born in such a bleak wasteland of war torn societies, and, therefore, Helena thanked Belias with almost every breath that her family was a whole one exulting in what cheerfulness they could scavenger and cherish for such a reason. However, when the news of Roch’s horse riding incident during a mere recreational outing that killed him on impact, the family was completely devastated. It was something akin to the straw that broke the camel’s back. Not only was Roch’s death a heartbroken tragedy, but their nobility was stripped from them—just as Helena had fretted so tirelessly during Roch’s bedridden days of recovery post his return from the War.

All was not lost, or so Helena would say to her grief stricken children. If it wasn’t for Roch’s war injuries, the family would have been in much further financial turmoil. Fortunately, Helena being a strong and capable woman, as many females of Operath may be, she led the family northward through the mountains of Operath to a humble city nested carefully in the workings of the kingdom. Life was anything but easy. Nikolai noted the difference more than his younger sisters, having been accustomed to the pillows of wealth he nursed from in Aith Anur. The sudden shift in family dynamics was a hard concept to grasp for Nikolai’s conservative mindset trying to adjust away from such a hard-earned and patriarchal household political system.

It wasn’t much help for his psyche that his family was turned into horse farmers for a family with decent monetary wealth. Helena reminded the family that Belias was taking care of them and allowing them a blessed opportunity to not bare any hatred or resentment towards the creatures that potentially caused their father’s death. Despite his mother’s pious words, her constant hand wringing to remind each other of the history of the Krähenvald family name, caused deep turmoil in Nikolai as his mind found violent relief in fantastically outlets upon which his body could not possibly act while under the influence of the matriarch of the household. The very backbone of Nikolai was the earliest memories of his childhood as being raised through noble etiquette, watching the successful struggle of his father’s survival through near fatal war wounds, and the pious prayers whispered from his mother’s mouth when she thought no one was looking. He was embarrassingly frustrated with his father’s death being on a stupidly fluke accident and the all too humbling of living arrangements.

He could see a class difference in the mindset between himself and his sisters. It was degrading to watch his sisters grow into lower-class skinned women weathered by the outdoors from constant labor. The owners of the horse farm, Alwin Engelhorn, must have taken notice and pity on Nikolai’s disposition because the man took it upon himself to help Nikolai continue his training in Swordsmanship and Arcane Purist, while also throwing in skills he himself deemed necessary for every male to know, Melee Combat and First Aid. Nikolai outwardly appreciated and thanked Alwin through respect, obedience, and kind hearted gestures, but these things were mostly done out of instilled politeness. It was in Nikolai’s mind that it was the least Alwin could do, and his pious, noble childhood deserved such a treatment.

Nikolai’s obsession with re-taking the nobility in the Krähenvald name only increased with Alwin’s steady guidance. Locked up impatience fueled the quite, pale rage in him. In fact, he was almost too excited at the news of the War of Reclamation. There was not much recklessness in his decision to obtain glory for the Kingdom of Operath and his family’s name, but there was much thought out determination and a taste for unleashing the impatient beast waiting for his first murder. Helena was no stranger to the honor of seeing a family member off to war, but she did have a worrying softness in her heart as she watched her only son leave with the promise of restoring the Krähenvald’s name to nobility. “If it is in the Queen of the Mountain Belias’ will,” became her mantra of pious comfort.

<sub>WEAPONS AND ARMOR

KURSIV -</sub>
A roughly 2 meter, all-steel Morning Star, a prominent component for bashing and crushing the the enemy by penetrating through armor, other tough exteriors, and, of course, bones.

_{KITE SHIELD -}
A roughly 1 meter long shield made from hardened leather and iron components. Nikolai managed to purchase this for himself and thus, the shield is insipid and has not outstanding markings on it.

_{LIGHT STEEL ARMOR -}
Breastplate, shoulders, wrist guards, gloves (combined with flexible leather gripping), and shin plates. Nikolai’s armor is what has been left as an honorably saved (and perhaps only) inheritance from his father.

_{BLACK LEATHER ARMOR -}
Upper arms sleeves and 3/4ths legs coverings, tough knee boots, and a leather hawk face helmet (a gift from Alwin having known his father’s helmet was destroyed in battle and in wanting to attribute something to the Aves class of Nikolai’s surname).

_{MISCELLANEOUS GEAR & POSSESSIONS}

▸ Small camel colored sack containing:

Scissors, bistoury knife, willow bark, honey, cobwebs, spaghnum moss, live snails, and other such small gadgets for survival.

▸ Small pouch for coins

▸ Goldish hairband tying his braid together.

▸ Handmade string necklace with a small tanzanite gem attached to it; a gift of good fate wished from his oldest sister.

[Hellis]

@babbysama@Tea

Accepted!

[Slamurai]

@Hellis
All done!

[Hellis]

@Aristo

Accepted

[babbysama]

So how exactly is the IC going to begin?

I'm hyped to get stared

[Gowi]

I'm... uh... working on character concepts.

[A Man Is No One]

@Hellis

So I've posted my character. Hopefully it is acceptable. The story itself is rather intriguing and I am looking forward to playing a new character. On another note I have a question about the magic system. You have everything broken up into schools, with groups such as necromancy or divine magic. Would one not be able to afflict an individual if practicing Divine Magic of Nethanil, God of Death and Decay? Or be able to caste water elemental spells if worshipping Kortall? Just a thought given that Divine Magic can take any form. Insight?

[Vox Angelis]

So yeah, here's my new character since the first one was simply flat-out unsuitable for the RP (undead character don't get along with the employer, Necromancy is a big no-no for followers of the Death God, Vampires can't Divine Magic, female was too skimpy, etc.)

So here it is, enjoy (hopefully this time). Whether the character is more interesting is up to you:

Mynn Aldaven

Mynn Aldaven

Name: Mynn Aldaven
Race: Wild Elf
Age: 136 years old.
Appearance:

(Image serves as a general preview to how the character looks like. Refer underneath for more precise details. Picture is subject to change once I find something more appropriate that I've been looking for)
A tall and slim woman, Mynn is just a bit above six feet but weighs no more than 135 pounds. A lifestyle of eating only vegetables and fruits and a lot of navigating through hazardous forests left her with quite a thin frame despite how her kin are usually tall and stocky people. Having a natural sandy-colored skin, her tone has turned copper due to being exposed every day to the sunlight. Mynn lets her auburn hair grow long and hangs freely, slightly curled and often tangled with itself of with bits of wood and leaves. Her eyes are of a deep green, reflecting almost nature’s greenery in her gaze. Mynn bears various tribal tattoos on her body, mainly her arms and her legs. An odd magical circle is printed on her back as well, symbol of her belonging to the druidic circle of the "Nature's Avengers"

Made from alchemically-altered leaves, Mynn wears clothing made from large leaves found in special trees, weaved in such manner that they form decent clothing. She may not seem to wear that much to the eyes of strangers, but the wild elf has found little need of much clothing when being alone in the forest. However, due to the recents wars, Mynn is more often clad in leather and fur armor covering her whole body for protection to her self. Adding to that apperance is also a stark white mask made of wood that covers her face. With only eye slits, Mynn looks effectively emotionless and stoic when she wears her druidic mask, which is almost at all times.

Deity: Mother Earth.
Personality: It would be extremely hard to describe Mynn due to her being so closed-minded to the world. From the way she speaks to the way she acts, she seems as if she was but a puppet working towards one goal. She has no sense of individuality, speaking with no regards to herself.

However, she is very passionate about her duties as a Druid. She speaks and acts in the name of Nature. She is bold and short-tempered whenever what she is protecting is in danger.

Had it not been for being a Druid, Mynn would be a quiet but happy young woman, contending herself with helping people around and taking care of those she holds close at heart.

Skills:
Masterful: Nurture Magic
Skilled: Control Plants and Animals Magic, Wilderness Lore
Adept: Alchemy, Shamanism
Novice:Athletics, Elemental Magic (All)

Traits:
Living a life away from civilization and fending off for herself, Mynn knows next to nothing about social etiquette and the likes. As such, she tends to be rather crude in both language and behavior. However, to counter her lack of social traits, Mynn has developed a more enlightened state about herself and life in general because of her long lifespan and the time spent in isolation. Once her mind gets into something, it is quite hard for Mynn to miss details of what she is currently focusing on. However, the intensity of her concentration makes her unaware of everything else happening around her. It is known for Wild Elves to react by instincts and have very little patience. Mynn holds no such patience for people trying to get under her skin and is quickly angered when Nature is harmed.

Backstory: For almost as long as she could remember, Mynn had always lived alone in a forest in the territory of Melfic. However, the young Wild Elf did not know that she was not from the forest of Melfic. Her birthplace was located where most of the Wild Elves originated, from the tropical jungles of Halvan. When she was just but a mere child, Mynn's parents left overseas to cross the ocean that sepratated Halvan from Auilthun, for reasons the little one could not understand. When they had reached the port city of Nubina to then make their way north-west to the forest separating Inafell from Aith Anur. It didn't take long after the little family settled, Mynn's parents and her sister went missing just as the little one woke up in the morning. Mynn has searched relentlessly for her parents nights and days for years, until she finally came to the understanding that she probably would never see her family ever again.

Her days were quite simple, but each were a battle for survival in the beginning. Every morning, she would wake to the songs of birds as the sun rose in the horizon, then it was time to find something to eat, mostly edible plants and fruits. What little hobbies she could afford to have for the day was to mingle with the friendly animals, or run away from the predators.

As life went on, as years passed by like that, Mynn eventually grew accustomed to being at one with nature. As such, she had developed an affinity for nature magic, to influence plants and animals life in some ways. Not only that, but she could also harness the power of Mother Earth to bolster herself, become stronger, more resilient, healing herself and the injured life she could come across.

Still basically a novice in regards of her magic, she was found and taken care of by a circle of Druids who were residing in secrets in the forest. She was explained that her awakening as a Druid had drawn the wise forest Elders from dreams to teach the young elf into becoming a fitting Druid. With no second thoughts, Mynn happily accepted to become part of this druidic circle and learn how to master her control over Nature.

The number one rule of this peculiar circle of Druids, also called “Nature’s Avengers”, was to discard one’s identity and become one with nature. As such, Mynn had to leave behind all of her personal feelings and focus on one single thought: preserve nature, protect it, and punish those who would sacrifice it for personal benefits. Slowly, during her time with the Avengers, she had lost her individuality and become an instrument to deliver punishment to those who harmed that which she protected. To further this thought, an alabaster-white wooden mask was given to Mynn.

Completely oblivious to the troubles happening to the outside world, the wild elven Druid learned of the Undying as they first came to plague her forest. Creatures of death were corrupting the life all around her, be it plants or animals. She fought them back with the help of the Circle many times over, but eventually they couldn’t keep up with the sheer number of the abominations. Many fell in battle trying to protect and exact vengeance in the name of Nature. Eventually, Mynn saw the foolishness of staying back and dying in vain as the undead gained ground, and so she had fled outside her forest.

For many years, the century-old Druidess was roaming, or rather fleeing, from this plague. There were a few moments of respite, when the First War was over. But when the Second Wave came upon Auilthun, Mynn had no choice but to fight alongside the Alliance in this decade-long war that proved to be even fiercer than the first one. To have survived two wars, even though she was a reclusive Druid, Mynn had made a name for herself for helping in fending off invasions in Melfic.

After the War of Perseverance was over, Mynn lost no time in recovering or relaxing. She had the feeling yet another confrontation with the Undying was inevitable, for as long as the source of this plague was not found and eliminated. When the call of Duchess Stormsparrow was sounded, Mynn took interest in joining her ranks. She may have not known the woman personally, but rumors of her prestige and reputation made the Druid drawn to her, as if the spirits guided her towards the solution in all this mess.

Weapons and Armor:
Wooden Staff: A simple quarterstaff made of wood. While quaint, it is able to channel Mynn’s magic and even change its shape due to being made entirely of something natural.

Fur leather-padded armor: On top of her clothing, if need be, Mynn also wears a fur armor padded with leather as to absorb shocks. While it does provide little protection against all type of attacks (it won’t stop an arrow or spear from piercing through, or a sword from cutting through), it is quite light and relatively warm, making its wearer still able to move around with ease and provide some warmth during cold days and nights.

Misc Gear and Possessions:
A small kit to make potions, elixirs and such (does not provide reagents, only the containers and what little tools are needed)
A featureless white wooden mask.

[Vox Angelis]

@Hellis

So I've posted my character. Hopefully it is acceptable. The story itself is rather intriguing and I am looking forward to playing a new character. On another note I have a question about the magic system. You have everything broken up into schools, with groups such as necromancy or divine magic. Would one not be able to afflict an individual if practicing Divine Magic of Nethanil, God of Death and Decay? Or be able to caste water elemental spells if worshipping Kortall? Just a thought given that Divine Magic can take any form. Insight?

@ELGainsborough

Magic operates on a different base between Divine and Arcane. Quoting from Hellis:

Nethelins magic is subtle, what should kill you doesn't. Your spells will distrupt and outright destroy undead. Its like your basicly severing their connection to the veil or force them back trough what ever hole they came from

I believe if you should play as an adept of a local god you should ask guidance to Hellis about what that god's power actually confers to its disciples. Since you can add your own gods to the world though, you can have a variety of magic according to the created gods. Just a heads up though, I believe Divine Magic is on the contrary very narrow depending on your god's themes.